


Tales of Snow

by WynnaPendragon



Series: Tales of Snow [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:08:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WynnaPendragon/pseuds/WynnaPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the tale of the snow prince, Charles Xavier. After the death of his mother, Charles must go into hiding lest he attract attention due to his unnatural abilities. As many people start to disappear, he realizes all is not what it seems, and he must brave the wild woods to save the ones he loves most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Beginning...

**Author's Note:**

> Currently un beta'd.

A long time ago, in a land far away, there lived a beautiful king and queen who longed for a child. One cool winter's morn, as the queen sat sewing beside her window, she pricked her finger on her needle, and three drops of blood fell to the ground. She gazed upon the crimson blood as it spread across the snow through her window and said to herself, "If I should ever have a child, I wish her to have lips as red as blood, skin as white as snow, and hair as dark as the wood outside." On that very day her wish was granted, and she bore a son with lips as red as blood, skin as white as the snow, and hair as dark as the woods that surrounded their home. She named him Charles.

In the years that soon passed, the queen lost her husband, and Charles grew into a handsome young man. The queen could hardly bear to look upon the son that she yearned so many years for, leaving him to others to care for him. She began to spend as much time as possible away from the prince, attending balls far away from her castle. The prince grew into a sad and lonely boy, books and the woods his only entertainment.

On the very eve of his twelfth birthday, he awoke to a sound in the kitchens below his room. He padded down the silent, dark hallway in trepidation, and stopped at the entrance to the kitchen to find his mother in a bright red traveling gown rummaging through the pantry. He questioned the woman in front of him, knowing already that this woman was the not the mother she claimed to be. She then transformed before his eyes into a small, frightened, and very blue little girl. It had started a fast friendship, for he had a special gift of his own. He promised to never read her mind without her permission, and she promised to forever keep their secret from others.

Little did they know in a land farther away from their own, a war was brewing that would threaten their very lives, and the lives of their loved ones....


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I aim to misbehave."- Malcolm Reynolds, Serenity (2005)

It was near nightfall by the time Erik made it to the city, the gates were on their way to closing, and the torches over the walls were being lit for the guardsmen. Since he wasn’t about to spend yet another cold night under the stars with his saddle for a pillow, he dug his spurs into his exhausted mare’s flanks. Adjusting the slight grip of the stirrups around his feet with a slight twitch of his free hand, they thundered over the drawbridge and through the gate, her hooves echoing over the cobblestones. Erik reined her in at the tavern across the small courtyard, the scent of food and the bright lights shining from within nearly made him fall out of the saddle in relief. After giving the reins over to a stablehand with strict orders for her care, he strode through the door. All he wanted was a hot meal and sleep, two things he had very little of for a very long time. 

The din of the common room was as loud as it was warm, he could feel himself sweating underneath all of his layers. Two serving women weaved between the tables, narrowly avoiding the hands of the more tipsy of the guests gathered. The doors to the kitchens never closed, and he could see more women and a few men bustling around the hot room. An older woman approached at the sound of the door and gave him an appreciative glance before resting her hands on the counter in front of her, “And what pray tell, can I do for you this fine evening?”

He set down two gold coins, noting the sharp interest in her eyes as the light gleamed upon their surface. “I need a room for two nights stay,” then he tossed three more coins to join the two, “And to forget my face after I leave.”

She smoothly swiped the coins and dropped them into a pocket of her apron, “Although it would be hard to forget a face such as yours, your wish is my command good sir.” She grabbed a passing serving girl, “Clean out the room across the stairs, with clean linens, and start a fire.” She passed another quick glance at him and muttered, “Also send for a bath, the poor dear has seen water since God knows when.”

He followed the older woman to a nearby table, facing the door and near the hearth. He smiled in thanks when after a few minutes she set a trencher of food in front of him, “Thank you.”

“It isn’t much, we’ve been busy what with the festival and all, but if you happen to need anything else, let us know,” She murmured. Before she could leave his table, he wrapped his hand loosely around her wrist.

“I need some information.”

She smiled wearily, “There’s nothing I would be able to tell you, sir. I keep my attentions to this inn, I can’t afford anything else.”

With what he had been told of the happenings of the city, he couldn’t blame her. He let her go with a nod, “I understand madam.”

She left him to his dinner and walked back into the kitchens. Erik settled back into the chair and surveyed the room, if he could glean any information that he didn’t already know out of the gathered townsfolk, it would be easier later in the night when the wine had flowed for a few hours. At the moment he couldn’t afford to draw attention to himself, and most of the townsfolk were keeping to themselves. The rest of the guests were gathered in tense clusters at tables and at the bar, mostly focusing on their food and ignoring the looks from the regulars.

With Queen Sharon ailing, her son missing, and another king from a nearby province aching to invade, the atmosphere was very strained. A dying ruler alone would have been cause to be afraid, bandits took the slightest provocation to loot what they could. What was different about this place, were the tales he had been hearing from the neighboring town. A girl able to talk to plants, a young boy killing with a touch, a young lady who could whisper into the minds of others, all of it foretold the same thing that happened to his home long ago. To couple the disappearances and hysteria of witchcraft rampaging through the countryside, it set the tone for another war. He knew who was coming, who was taking these people from their beds, and who he was going to stop before more deaths could pile on his conscience. 

At that thought, he dropped the fork into the trencher, there was no way he could finish his meal now. How could he, when he knew there were others undergoing the same thing that he went through long ago? He pushed back from the table, ignoring the grumbling from the other patrons, and trudged up the steps to his room.

* * *

The next morning dawned grey and chill, the fire long ago burned out in the small hearth. He hardly slept, with the travel from the day before coiling his muscles into knots it was hard to relax enough to sleep. The night was spent staring at the door in paranoia for hours, what little sleep he had was filled with dreams he could shake. It had been years since his mother was murdered right in front of him, but Erik could still see the terror in her eyes, the exhaustion and hunger had turned a vibrant woman into a gaunt ghost of her former self. The resignation he saw in her eyes still haunted his dreams, as did her hoarse voice telling him everything was going to be okay. Every day he spent searching and every time he closed his eyes a new horror arose, a new face that rested on his conscience, more blood on his hands for failing to find her murderer. 

Erik surveyed the map tacked to the wall in front of him, the dim morning light illuminating the dark lines connecting his findings together in a macabre collage. Schmidt was somewhere in the vast land set before him, and he would be damned all over again before he let the madman slip from his grasp. He would pay for rounding up his family, friends, neighbors of his village...for killing them. Schmidt looked each person over, ignoring their pleas, their cries as each one was passed over and then shuffled off to the killing fields. At the time, Erik didn't know just what the man was looking for, until he was separated from his parents. The power displayed caught the attention of everyone in the fort, and if under different circumstances, Erik would have been terrified to see the gate mangled by a gesture of his hand. He could feel something building for a while before the armored soldiers burst through their home and grabbed them, but he couldn't possibly fathom that his power would be unleashed in such a way. 

He rested his back against the rough wooden headboard, the muffled morning voices from below him were a distant distraction from his morning meditations. The coin he kept ever since his mother's death weaved between his fingers, a tingling feeling that wasn't entirely unpleasant. He was pleased he had been so gifted, but only wished he could have used it when it counted. 

After studying the map for a few minutes longer, his eyes fell upon the face that was burned into his memory until his dying day. He quickly filled with righteous fury- that a man such as him could keep on living when others better than him were cut down. At the flex of his fingers, the coin buried itself between the eyes of the portrait, right where he imagined embedding the real coin for hours that bordered on obsession. After glancing out the window, and the crowd that had gathered in the courtyard, he dressed quickly and carefully packed all of his papers.  
As he exited the tavern, he a man near the back and nodded at the group, “What’s going on?”

The man shot him a look and whispered, “The queen died last night. They say she was sick for a time, but some of us aren’t convinced. Now her council is calling for her son to come home from studying abroad, though he might not reach here in time for the funeral.”

Erik nodded his thanks and stepped aside as others joined in. Curious- he had always taken the queen to be a woman of excellent health, as had many others. It just served to prove to him that he was getting closer to Schmidt; it was perfect timing. He pulled his hood up and stalked towards the sheriff’s office, one of the men connected to Schmidt resided under its roof and after their little talk, he needed to make himself scarce.

After today, Erik Lensherr was a wanted man.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ignore the bird, follow the river."- Willow (1988)
> 
> Feedback is loved!

It was the morning after his mother’s death, but Charles had never seen a more beautiful sunrise. He wished he could have felt something more than a dark void since he received the news. There was regret, but not enough for him let loose any tears. He had cried enough as a child for his lost mother; he didn't think he could cry for her any longer. He knew it was a coping mechanism, that if he didn't mourn for her, then she wasn’t really gone. He honestly didn’t think that sentiment applied to him, but the intellectual excuse saved him hours of more retrospection. 

He didn’t sleep, having spent the night packing a small bundle of his most treasured belongings and a few changes of clothing. They were leaving as soon as they could, back to his childhood home for him to reclaim the throne. They had to do it in secret for he couldn’t afford to get accosted by anyone who wanted to challenge his claim, or try to get a ransom. There was enough civil unrest around the countryside, enough to trigger an all out war if he let it. 

The breeze was cool and crisp, ruffling his dark hair and his travelling clothes, a storm was on the horizon and he hoped he could outrun it. He tightened the lacings of the saddle before him, not for any real necessity but for something to do with the nervous energy he was currently feeling. 

"Well look at you up before the dawn, if I didn't see it with my own eyes..."

 _Raven_ , his eyes pricked unbidden at the sound of her amused voice. He took a quick breath to banish any moisture from his eyes, plastered on a grin, and then faced her. She was dressed in men's clothing, her hair bound and stuffed into a dark hood. She looked utterly ordinary at the moment, and there wasn’t a single feature that stood out more than the other. She had been practicing with his help, and he had to admit, she was doing rather well. He could pick out certain features from others in the village miles away from them, but as a whole, she looked an utter stranger. It bothered him more than he could say or think, but after all the years he had spent with her, he wasn't the least bit frightened of her ability. He was more afraid for her, they had never spent any time apart since he found her in his kitchen all those years ago, and what would she do without him? What would he do without her? She must have noticed something in his face, for her features rippled into the girl he knew better than the back of his hand.

"Charles," She softly smiled at him, "I'll be alright."

"I know," he nodded, "but it doesn't mean I like it any less."

"I'm more worried for you, you know." Her footsteps were light as she approached her horse, "You've never ventured too far from the college or the tavern, and you’ve no idea what it’s like out there."

He made a face, "Neither do you, we hardly spend any time apart. Things may have changed." The witch hunts that forced Raven to live most her life on the run had plagued their kingdom for many years. People were dragged from their homes in the middle of the night and disappeared for days until an official investigation was posed. It almost certainly resulted in a death by either burning or the rope.

Her eyes sharpened, "Nothing has changed and you know it, Charles. People are still going missing, and someone is looking for you. That worries me more than I care to admit, especially since you have no clue how to live like a normal person."

"So I have lived a sheltered life, that doesn't mean I am oblivious to everything around me." He might have said it harsher than he intended, from the look on her face. They both remembered how horrible the first few years were in the beginning; his blank stares, the whispered thoughts falling from his lips, the nightmares, the reliving of events and memories, so jumbled together he could barely remember his own name after the waves receded.

He bit his lower lip, studying her every feature from brow to chin, unwilling to admit that this was a goodbye with an uncertain outcome. She smiled just like the little blue girl she was years ago, her perfect teeth bright against the dim light. Her face flickered for just a moment, a soft clicking of her blue scales, a glimmer of her otherworldly golden eyes, until they settled into the face he was more familiar with. She settled a steadying hand on his shoulder and said softly, "It will be alright, Charles. The time will pass before you know it and I will be bothering you all over again."

He nodded before he pulled her into a tight embrace, "Please take care of yourself, I don't know what I will do without you." He could feel her answering squeeze before they both reluctantly let go, the quick brush of her face let him know that she felt far more than she was letting him see. 

He quickly turned to grab both sides of the saddle, and stared into the dark leather. He could sense a brush, something on the peripheral of his mind, just a touch enough to unsettle him, "They're not getting closer. I think they are toying with me."

"All the more reason for us to get the hell out of here," She swung easily into the saddle, the earlier uneasiness forgotten and gripped the reins with an ease that was utterly envious. She smirked, "Need any help?"

He huffed, "Listen to you… one would think I wasn't the one who taught you how to ride in the first place." He sailed into the saddle with the same amount of grace as she displayed, speaking of the best education that money could buy. He supposed he should shirk his saddle, wear shabbier clothing to cultivate the ‘loner traveler’ image he was going with, but they would quibble about the specifics of their journey until nightfall if he let it. Now, they were to travel apart towards the next city, a much larger place in which to disappear until the rumors of the inquisitors died down. They needed to glean any and all information they could, the witchcraft rumors were escalating, and it troubled Charles more than anything. 

If the people being chosen had any ability that would set them apart from others, like he and Raven, then something had to be done about it. He couldn’t let anyone suffer in his kingdom and turn a blind eye to it any longer. He had spent the last few years of his life running away from everyone and everything important to him, and dragged his dearest friend along without asking. He was ten times the fool, and it was high time he stepped into his father’s shoes. 

He wheeled is horse closer to Raven’s and gave her one last squeeze, then quickly spurred his horse to action. Though the town they stayed in was a safe enough area, the countryside wasn’t as populated, so there were always risks of bandits. They promised to meet each other by nightfall at an inn just inside Oxford, the last one was charged with buying the first round.

* * *

Raven paused long enough to watch her brother disappear over the next hill, worry already setting in for Charles. It wasn’t as if she didn’t believe that her brother would be able to take care of himself, he already proved so many times to her and everyone else that there was more to the young prince than met the eye. Raven knew that he had more than one weapon in which to defend himself but it was his constant optimism and naivety that forced her to think otherwise. He could control minds- even kill with a thought- but she knew that if forced into a corner, Charles may not do what was necessary to keep himself safe. Couple that with a tendency to help anyone and everyone that crossed his path, no matter how perilous, and she had her work cut out for her. 

She shook herself back into reality, and wheeled her horse around the vast chateau they had just left. She prayed that he would be at the tavern when she arrived, unharmed and- knowing her brother- drunk out of his mind. She settled back into the guise she chose for her journey, and took a deep breath to settle her racing heart. Charles was right- it had been a long time since they were parted from each other, and she knew that her ever waking thought would be centered around him. 

As she traveled through the woods, a path she believed far more quick than the main road, she felt a tingling down her spine. She looked behind her, seeing no one around her. She furtively looked through the trees and underbrush, again seeing nothing but small animals and flowers. She twitched the walls within her mind, the ones that Charles taught her to keep up lest he caught on a thought she didn’t want to share with him. When she felt the same tingling again, she stopped all thought of her brother and focused on the clouds and the back of her horse’s head.

Whoever was searching for them was getting close.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There is a difference between knowing the path and walking the path." -Morpheus (Matrix)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse the lateness of this post, I have been sick for a bit. I doubt anyone would want to read the utter drivel I would post when tripping bwalls on cold medicine.

Emma Frost, the White Queen, was busy filing her nails amongst her ladies when the Black King strode through her doors. Her ladies hurried behind her, yet the queen made no movement save extending a perfectly arched brow at her consort. She set her nail file upon the ivory vanity table beside her and turned back, “Need something, sugar?”

“Ladies,” the king grinned, “Leave us.”

They dithered to comply with the king’s request, shot furtive looks to Emma, and a few women edged along the wall. The king let out a long suffering sigh and made a gesture, as one his henchmen stalked forward and grabbed each woman to throw them out of the room. The door slammed behind them, the ladies’ screams echoing through the halls to gutter away after a few moments.

He gracefully settled into a chair behind her, crossing his leg over the other and rested an elbow on the armrest, “We need to choose your women more carefully my dear, I’ve never seen a flock of more frightened does in my life, and I hunt regularly.”

She drew her white fur shawl around her shoulders, “Your men frighten them, and it’s only natural. They’re human, what do you expect?”

He cocked an eyebrow, “I would expect a little more thought in your choices. Humans have no place in my kingdom as you well know, even if they are comely.” He shrugged, “We’ll have them shipped off tomorrow to your uncle’s, no harm done.”

“Really? I tend to doubt that with Victor near. “

He grinned, and she knew the subject had not only changed, but the matter was not to be brought up again. He leaned forward in the chair, his eyes never straying from hers, “I want you to scan. Tell me where the most powerful mutant resides.”

She leaned back in her chair, answered the grin the stretched across his face, and closed her eyes to shield them from the manic gleam in Shaw’s. Emma let her mind drift, filtering through the minds she dismissed as human and therefore weak. On the outskirts of her range, she sensed the mind of a fellow telepath-and a very powerful one at that, since her mind slipped from his like water off glass. She yearned to get him in her clutches, to see what it took to shatter those walls that protected that powerful mind. Before she could get a better hold on him, he slithered through her range, and short of giving herself a nosebleed there was nothing she could do to catch hold.

Giving the telepath up for a loss, knowing she will find him again and hopefully soon, she zeroed in on the next mind. This little one’s thoughts were fireflies, flickering through the darkness in her mind, this one was very protective of the telepath, of that she could tell very easily. Emma caught a stray image of the way-ward telepath, a young man with pale skin, dark wavy hair, and brilliant blue eyes. _Very handsome_ , Emma thought to herself. She let go of the mind as image after image of random landscapes filtered through, they knew they were being watched, and Emma could barely hold on. 

She dismissed the second mind with regret, two wonderful mutants slipped away due to her lack of range. Se elegantly shrugged her shoulders and locked onto the last one she sensed, “I found one. He’s very powerful, young, and vulnerable. He lives on the streets, so malnourished, but I wouldn’t corner him. He’s a pyro-kinetic, and something to do with…emotions. He’s very scared, someone’s hunting-hungry-need shelter…Please no, stop, you’re hurting me-”

“Emma stop now,” She heard his voice, although it seemed from so far off, “Emma, stop!” His hand landed on her shoulder, and shook her into reality.

She gasped, “The boy is close.”

He cocked an eyebrow, “Did you happen to get a name while you were rolling around in his brain?”

She fought to catch her breath as the last of the alien emotions faded away, “Remy. Remy is all I could get.”

He hummed, “It’s a start. I’ll get Azazel and the Hunters, we’ll be ready in five minutes. We’re going to need you to keep the boy calm.”

“That will be a large job with the Hunters and Azazel with us. Do we really need them?” The Hunters were mercenaries that Sebastian had picked up a few years ago. They were fierce fighters, known for their loyalty to not only their employer, but to each other. They never lost their prey, and could go on for days hunting their quarry. They were heavily muscled, and had an aura of danger. They were not the best for recruitment in the least, and the biggest one- Victor- worried Emma.

Sebastian rolled his eyes and sighed, “They’re for protection, Emma, and we need Azazel for travel. It wouldn’t do to get mud on your new boots now would it?” There was a hint of danger here, no one questioned Sebastian Shaw, not even his White Queen, and she wasn’t exactly sure why she was doing it now. 

She shrugged her snowy fur over her shoulders, “I would never dream of it Sebastian.”

He wound her arm around his and said quietly, “See that you don’t.”

* * *

They appeared behind the charred remains of the city’s church, well away from the prying eyes of the town’s people who were gathered in frightened awe in the square. Emma could smell the burning flesh of the corpses within from where she stood, far away from the wreckage itself. One look from Shaw stopped her from making any kind of face that would betray her thoughts, she never dared to look weak or human in front of him, and to let on in anyway how she felt about this carnage would be telling. 

“It seems we did not get here in time, comrades,” Azazel, Shaw’s red-skinned teleporter, murmured softly in his accented English. His tail whipped furiously behind him, the lingering smell of their arrival blended smoothly with the rest of the town. 

“A little mayhem never hurt anybody,” Shaw answered back flippantly, “and it would do well for the humans to remember just what will happen to them should they decide to oppose us.” He nodded at the Hunters, who then shared a look with one another before silently stepping into the smoking door of the church.  
Emma could sense them weaving through the wreckage, could witness through their eyes the bodies that looked as if they tried to fight their way out. The pews and other wooden items within disintegrated at the disturbance of the air as the two walked past. Through the smell that made her almost gag, she sensed the lingering odor of something different, spicy with a hint of salt, and knew that was what they were looking for. 

_”Let’s get on with this, I’m getting hungry,” Victor, the larger of the two growled._

Emma slipped from his mind eagerly, and if given a choice, she would have chosen Logan to listen through. Shaw made it a habit of sending them off on separate hunting or recruiting missions due to his inability to trust any mutant in his service, but on the rare occasions they were together, he ordered Emma to monitor them whenever possible. It seemed that Logan was able to sense whenever she brushed his mind, so Emma was forced to go into his older brother’s mind, and Victor was the last person she ever wanted to touch minds with.

“They picked up the scent,” Emma said, “and they should find him soon.” She looked off into space, still riding piggy back Victor all the while. She didn’t listen to the conversation going on behind her over whether or not to follow the Hunters. She looked through Victor’s eyes, ignoring the thoughts that broke through her defenses, and saw Logan slid an arm out to signal stop. 

Logan turned, tapped a finger to his lips, and pointed to the end of the alleyway where a small mass was huddled in the corner of two buildings. The little figure wafted a… smell the closer they approached, an unwashed fetid odor, with a hint of spice and salt tears. She could see through Victor’s eye that the child was covered in soot, blood, dirt, and other unnamed filthy substance. 

“They found him,” Emma intoned, and all idle conversation stopped, “Other side of the church, across the square, at the end of the alleyway between the tavern and the tailor shop.” 

“I know the place,” Azazel answered. One by one they each took the other’s hand and disappeared only to reappear in the area she saw through Victor’s eyes. It was miraculous to her that the boy was nothing more than a small child, and that he didn’t sense anyone, not even the two hunters that were standing just inside the alleyway. 

Shaw looked at her through the corner of his eye- her cue to approach the child. She stepped forward and shooed the two burly men away, the closer she came to the end of the alleyway, the more the smell the child gave off intensified. She looked for a place to sit near him, and finding nothing in the realm of clean that would pass her inspection, she decided to crouch. The boy was curled in on himself, crying softly and whispering softly to himself. She knew that the manifestation of new abilities often were distressing- hers included- but never had she seen so much devastation and sorrow from one so very young. 

_Do not be alarmed, Remy._ the boy jumped, but to his credit, he didn’t say anything. He looked up at her and it took everything she could do not to gasp. His eyes were red on black, beautifully alien, red-rimmed and puffy as if her were crying. From what she could guess at the state of his mind, he could feel everyone in general vicinity, he felt what he did to those people in the church. The gut-wrenching grief that flowed from his mind to hers was incredible. _I am speaking in your mind, dear. I’m like you… different._

 _You-you’re not here to hurt me?_ Remy was remarkably adept at thinking back at her, his walls could do with some more fortification but it wouldn’t be hard for Emma to work with. 

_Perish the thought, dear. We’ve come here to help you._ His eyes darted to the men behind her, disbelieving her instantly. She sighed and touched his wringing hands, _I know that all of this is new to you, and very terrifying, but you must believe me when I say that we are not here to harm you._

 _Then what **do** you want?_ Image after nauseating image he threw at her, of situations just like this ending in nothing but pain and disgust for Remy. 

She waved them away it was nothing she hadn’t experienced before, _We want to recruit you. You see Remy, you are very powerful. Given time and training, you will be able to control your abilities better and thus be able to help us._ She felt the second he decided, locking onto the thought that they could help him control his abilities, possibly even making them go away. She shook her head, her blonde curls brushing her face, _No Remy, they will never go away, and the more you ignore them, the worse it will be for you. That is where we come in; we will help you wield your power, give you shelter and food. You will be protected all your days._

His exotic eyes narrowed, _Why choose me? Why would you want to help a street rat like me?_

She wanted to say so many things, that Shaw would not rest until he had the boy in his clutches, that it would be the worse for him should he choose to refuse, that it could result in his death if he didn’t come with them now. Before she could say anything to him that would make him decide, the boy stood- hardly taller than her perfectly coiffed head and faced the men behind her. He nodded, all the while looking at something she guessed only he could see and looked back at her, “I’ll go with you, miss…?”

She smiled brightly, “Emma Frost.” She took the boy’s hesitant hand in hers and led him to the men behind her, “The White Queen of House Hellfire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is loved :)


	5. Chapter 5

The wall of psychic noise was enough to stop Charles in the middle of the courtyard, a hand already rising to brush against his temple in an effort to physically push the sound in his mind away. His headache had started soon after he and Raven parted ways- all of his effort was put into shielding himself from the minds around him, and keeping tabs on Raven. The telepath knew that he would never be able to “turn off” his ability, no matter how Raven wished otherwise, but he needed to be sure that she was okay. He would never stoop to listening in on her thoughts, but the surface emotions did a lot to ease his mind. It was a good idea that they had split up, Raven was able to meet up with a contact that worked for his mother’s Council who had news of the disappearances, he was able to see first-hand what was going on in his kingdom, and they needed to spend some time apart. Though it was only for a few hours at most, though after the day’s journey, he was sorely tempted to either camp in the forest surrounding the town, or he could make everyone in the tavern believe they could never speak. The horse was older than he was used to, it was hot, and Charles was in no mood to be charitable at the moment. The sense of being watched had faded soon after Raven and he parted ways, and he was tense at the thought that they might not have been searching for him in the first place.

 _All the more reason to get a pint_ , he sighed happily at just the thought, so he figured it was fate. He handed over the reins to the stable boy, and strode into the tavern and right up to the bar. He ordered a drink for himself and another for the lady beside him with the striking eyes, and had a lovely conversation over said features when he was interrupted by the very woman he was at the tavern to meet. “Ah, this is my sister, Raven.” He should have known what poor judgment that was, and unfortunately, he didn’t have the ability to turn back time and stop himself from walking up to the bar without looking around first.

The night had gone downhill from then on, Raven in a fit of irritation, displayed her ability in front of the other woman. Charles thanked whoever was watching over them that the lady didn’t notice the obvious change, and promptly left the tavern with his sister in tow.

“Don’t even talk to me, you did that on purpose!” He stalked across the cobblestone street to an inn that was close by, hoping all the while that no one was following them. 

“I did not-”

“Yes you did,” He bit out, darting a glance over his shoulder worriedly.

“You know that I can’t control it at times, like when I’m stressed or tired-”

“You seem to be doing a perfectly good job right now,” He murmured as he pulled his hood up over his hair. It was already drizzling rain, a fine mist was settling into the air, and all he wanted was to get to lodgings as quick as possible to further their conversation in private. He couldn’t believe that she blatantly used her abilities in public like she did.

“-Or is that only with pretty abilities, or invisible ones like yours? If you are a freak you’d better hide.” She sounded so bitter and angry he had to stop their retreat.

“Look, we’ve talked about this. A small slip up is one thing, but a big one does not bear thinking about,” All he could think about were the images he remembered from other minds: a woman burned at the stake in a nearby village, the hangings, mass graves from a war years ago. All of the people- victims- were born different in one way or another, like him and Raven, and all of them were murdered. He couldn’t bear to put her face among the many he had already seen, he couldn’t bear to lose her when she was all he had, when they could only depend on each other now.

He hoped that he got through to her somehow; he wanted to say so much more- do so much more for her, and the more he tried the more he felt as if he was failing, or losing her somehow.

* * *

The next night, it was very much the same thing, Charles and Raven were in the local tavern, and thankfully the woman he talked to wasn’t in sight. Charles just finished chugging a large tankard of ale, much to the chagrin of his burly opponent, to the cheering of every patron including Raven. He was just going back for another, when he was waylaid by a dark-haired woman, Moira, the contact that they should have met up with the night before. He almost cursed himself out loud when he realized. 

She was a young girl that came into his mother’s service just before he went abroad for higher learning, so he wasn’t at all surprised that she had no idea who he was, and that was just fine with him. He never knew her growing up, but was able to pick information from her already open mind. She was trained in combat surprisingly, and then employed by his mother’s Council, to spy on the Black King, Sebastian Shaw. Charles had no idea how she managed it, for any slip up on her part spelled her death warrant. She discovered a hidden room in Shaw’s base, one where several documents were held. He picked an image of the North from her mind, his kingdom, divided up in smaller sections.

He pulled her aside to a nearby table, out of the way from the rest of the patrons as well, hoping that Raven would see where they were at least. She gazed at him in earnest, “I need your help. The things that Raven and I discussed… the things that we have all been hearing about, I was wondering if it already happened, in people alive today.”

“W-What?” His brow furrowed, it may have been the beer, or it may have been the questions posed to him, but something didn’t seem right. He knew that the only way to figure out what was going on was to look inside her mind. He brushed his fingers against his temple to help him focus, and like bright spots of color, the images within her mind blossomed forth. 

_He saw none other than the White Queen, Shaw’s consort, covered from head to toe in sparkling diamond. She stood next to the Black King, with a young boy with red-on-black eyes, their hands on each of his shoulders. Their attention was on General Hendry, one of Sharon Xaver’s councilmen._

His hand slowly fell to the table in shock, he knew General Hendry, and the man was loyal to Charles’ father for years. He was one of the men who spoke for Sharon when the king died years ago, and had fought in countless wars and skirmishes to protect his kingdom when Charles was fit to rule. _But why would he betray us now?_ He decided to search deeper into her memory. 

_The red-skinned man appeared in a billow of smoke, right beside the king-_

“Maybe we should talk more tomorrow,” She muttered, _When you are sober_. 

He grinned internally at her last thought, but said to her instead, “Something tells me you already know the answer to your question.” He leaned closer to her, “This is very important to me, and if I can help you, I will do my utmost.”

Her face softened at that, “Thank you.”

In the next instant, Raven joined their table, “Well it seems I have to get my own drink.” She winked at Moira who nodded back to her. “Sorry we couldn’t meet up last night, there were…complications.”

“I didn’t arrive here until late last night myself,” Moira answered back. “It seems that there was an attack on the church nearby early this morning, nobody knows what really happened.”

Raven made a face, “We always miss the action.”

Charles shook his head, “Nevertheless, I think we need to get some rest, and discuss our plans in the morning.”

Moira nodded, “That would be best, and we should meet the Council for further instruction.”

Charles chuckled as he ducked out of the tavern, “Oh, I think we’ve met.”

At Moira’s questioning look, Raven put a hand on her shoulder and whispered, “He’s the prince.” As Moira gaped at her, she rolled her eyes and skipped after the rapidly retreating figure.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, insert plausible excuse here---> .

Chapter Five.

They decided to meet with Charles in his room the next morning. The two women took seats at the table beside the smoldering hearth, while Charles stood in front of the shuttered window. To the observer, he was merely staring out through the cracks between the wood in a slightly relaxed pose. Inwardly, he was making sure that no one remembered the two women who walked into the inn, and walked up the stairs and into his room. He made sure, heavily relying on his ability- quieting the voice in his head that recoiled from using it in this manner- to make sure that no one heard or remembered their conversation.

He listened with half an ear as Moira told her story, not needing to hear it himself, since it bled out of her mind in the tavern the night before. He had to help her work on some kind of mental shielding, nothing else would protect her if they ever crossed paths with another telepath, and even then he wasn’t sure if it would do any good. It would help him though, not having to blot out the images of her memories at every turn.

The Black King, as he was known in the kingdom and everywhere else, stayed in his homeland over the sea for years after the Great War. He rose into power after the original leader was killed, and condemned the ones that razed the towns and its people. He pardoned many of the officers, but not until after he imprisoned them for years. Some believed it was not enough, would never be enough to excuse the things they had done to the men, women and children they lorded over for four long years. The bloody war ended, a new ruler took power, and the ones who started it all were punished. 

Maybe in a few years, it would be forgotten.

He had stayed quiet, ruling his country with an iron fist until Queen Sharon died. Expressing his condolences, he made sure to worm his way into the Council’s graces, and tried to garner a treaty with House Xavier and House Shaw. Charles didn’t know how many of the Council he contacted before he sunk his claws into Hendry, and was actually shocked that the man accepted Shaw’s proposal. From what he plucked from Moira’s mind, Shaw was going to give Hendry the North- Charles kingdom- if he would help Shaw assemble an army to siege his lands. 

Since General Hendry commanded a good chunk of Charles’ army already, it wasn’t hard to guess that the man would take up the offer. 

“I can’t believe General Hendry would betray us like that!” Raven slapped the table in irritation.

“The Black King isn’t someone you can say ‘no’ to,” Moira said quietly. Charles looked at her through the corner of his eye, the poor girl was a wreck with dark circles ringing her eyes, and her face lined with worry. “There are many people who could attest to that, he may not display his anger outwardly, but the stories…” She shuddered.

“I hope nothing befell you while in his service,” Chares said sincerely.

She shook her head, “I’m a spy for the Council if I was found out I wouldn’t be here. I left as quickly and quietly as I could after I saw that man appear and disappear like he did. That was the last straw as it were.”

“So what did you find out? Or can you only the Council?” Raven asked worriedly.

“It seems that telling the Council wouldn’t make any kind of difference,” Moira shrugged, “General Hendry is a part of it, but they will be expecting me soon. I doubt that they would have put me there without someone watching my every move to make sure I didn’t mess up. I just don’t know who it was.”

“Then maybe it was a bad idea that I contacted you in the first place.”

Charles couldn’t help but agree with his sister, her actions were rash though he understood why. If anything was threatening Raven, he would do everything in his power to help her. He brushed a hand through his hair and sighed, “There’s nothing we can do about it now, what’s done is done.” He sat at the table across from Moira and took her hand, “I thank you for coming to us, and risking your life as you did. No matter what the Council may say, we are going to stop Shaw.”

Moira smiled, “Thank you. I just wish I had better news for you.” She stood and started pacing, “There’s going to be a celebration soon, Shaw was getting the plans underway before I left. He is holding his annual jousting tournament here instead of in his country.”

Raven’s brow furrowed, “What kind of celebration?”

Charles’ head snapped to Moira in disbelief, “He adopted a child.” Moira shrugged, and nodded.

* * *

Erik received more information than he was expecting about Schmidt, he had a place where most of his former officers frequented. After being pardoned by the Black King after a few years’ imprisonment, they were sent away from their homeland, and decided to take up roots around the border of the North and South countries. The North was a land rich in resources, and thus coveted by the Black King. He had slowly traveled through the South, making himself known to many notable dignitaries, beginning his takeover so quietly that no one really knew what he was planning before he amassed himself allies and holdings within a few months if not a year. 

The tavern was located a few miles away from the road, nestled in a clearing of forest next to a lake. It was a picturesque scene, the bright rays gilded the meadow and glittered off the surface of the water, the birds were chirping, and the breeze wafted through the leaves. Erik tied his horse to a branch nearby, letting the creature graze and drink its fill while he attended his business. He took his cloak from about his shoulders, the temperature was warm enough that he didn’t need such heavy cloth, and it showed that he wasn’t carrying any weapons. There was enough metal in that building serviceable to defend himself if needed, he could hear it almost singing to him from where he stood. 

The front room gave the impression of old comfort, it was dim without being too dark, and the chairs looked comfortable enough. Upon entering, there were two men sitting at the main table that he recognized instantly. Not only did they have the air of former military, but he could see in their faces something unexplainable that he saw in the men that had helped torture is people for years. There was darkness in their eyes that he held himself now, and though they seemed relaxed with drink, he could feel the hidden metal. 

He grinned to himself and greeted the two men, then sat at the bar to order a beer. They seemed friendly enough, so he waited for the inevitable conversation starter. He wondered though, who it would be- the blonde or the one with the mustache? While waiting for his drink, he sized up the area around him: other than the obligatory wooden tables, chairs, and bar, there was nothing else he could use as a weapon other than what the men had on them. His eyes fell upon a painting hung on the wall beside him, innocuous as it was, it chilled his blood.

Standing between the two men who were living and breathing behind Erik was none other than Schmidt, garbed as the Black King. Erik was responsible for the blood soaked tavern in the aftermath, though he didn’t care. As he left, he clutched in his fist the token he unintentionally won, an invite to the Black King’s tournament.

* * *

On a hill overlooking an expansive valley, five figures on horses oversaw the building of a large tournament arena. Sebastian Shaw sat atop a restless black stallion, the sweat beading on his pale forehead, and thought how dressing in black on the hottest day of the summer was a rather poor choice. Though he was extending his ability to absorb the sun’s energy, he was gaining nothing as the heat leeched nearly everything from him. He glanced at Emma, his White Queen, and felt his blood boil at how at ease she was.

In head to toe in white, she should be. What he wouldn’t give at the moment to change his moniker to the White King, but it just wouldn’t strike as much fear into the hearts of his enemies if he did. If her horse was overheated, it took a cue from its master and showed nothing in the realm of discomfort. He was pleased at this, if he had to deal with a delicate and whimpering woman on a day such as this, he would have to find a gravesite. 

On his other side rode the young man for whom all of this fuss was being made, the young Remy. Already the boy exuded the air of royalty, whether it was out of fear of angering his benefactor, or if his tutors were actually getting through to the boy, the boy was an enigma. His riding skill need much improvement, he would have to have Janos tutor the boy in that as well. The boy rarely talked though when he did it was with a soft accent, and when tested, more of a sarcastic drawl. He expressed a liking to bathing, always kept himself clean with an almost fanaticism about it, and Shaw wished more of his subjects kept to the same habit. Remy was impressively dressed for the day, though Sebastian gave the credit to his trusted steward Azazel, who seemed to take the young man under his metaphorical wing. He had to admit that the black and red suited the young man as well as the red-skinned mutant beside him, and Shaw supposed that the closeness was due to the fact that they both had a physical aspect that set them apart from everyone else. 

When in public, Azazel kept himself hooded, his forked tail hidden under a long cloak. The boy had to do the same thing, since his red-on-black eyes were very out of place. Sebastian heard from Azazel that the young man’s eyes could be seen in the dark, and that his vision was better at night than it was in daylight. _Useful ability_ , Sebastian thought. It seemed that his investment was becoming more profitable by the day. He was excited to learn more about this boy, what all he could do, and what Shaw could use him for in the future. 

At the moment, baby steps. Shaw needed to secure the large island, and the people within. That meant giving them someone to talk about, and by the end of the week he would have accomplished just that. Next would be to meet this Charles Xavier that currently held the kingdom in his cultured hands- who had been in hiding for years- and either get the man to join his cause or crush him. Both of which were in the realm of possibility for Shaw knew himself to be easy to get along with, and when that didn’t work, he was very skilled at making his enemies…disappear.

He nodded in satisfaction, the preparations were well underway. He motioned for their bodyguards, Janos and Azazel, that he was ready to leave. The five riders wheeled their horses about towards their campsite. Shaw was ready to rest, absorb what energy he could from his…guests, and then dress for their nightly festivities. The tournament was bound to be a success he was sure, all was going according to plan, and with a bit of luck he will take hold of the island in a few months. 

If a bit of blood needed to be spilled, then so be it. He will give these humans enough blood to drown themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is loved.

**Author's Note:**

> More to come, feedback appreciated.


End file.
